Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

drowned him if he'd let it. He'd feel sorry for himself later, when he had the time. He hadn't reported to the King yet, and he ought to take a look at his men
    and make sure they were all right. They'd had a rough time of it, at the end. Rupert looked around for the Champion, but he was nowhere in sight. No doubt he'd gone straight to the King, to inform him of the High Warlock's return. Rupert frowned. As leader of the party, it was his place to report on the mission, not the Champion's. At the very least, the Champion should have checked with him first. Rupert smiled grimly as the answer came to him. The Champion had sworn to obey his orders only until the mission was over. Now they were back at the Castle, Rupert was once again nothing more than a second son, and what little control he'd had over the Champion was at an end. In fact, he'd do well to start watching his back again. Boots scuffed on the cobblestones close at hand, and Rupert looked up to find the man-at-arms from the gates glaring down at him. Tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, he would have been an impressive sight even without the anger that darkened his scarred face. He was carrying a rusty-headed pike in two huge hands, and behind him stood several more men-at-arms, all of them cold-eyed and menacing. Rupert stared at them calmly.
    'You want something?'
    'My name's Chane,' said the man-at-arms from the gates. 'Remember me? Thought you might. You could have got us all killed, you stupid bastard, just for a few damn guards! I don't know what the hell you were doing out there, or how you got the gates open, but by the time we're finished with you, you're going to wish the demons had got to you first.'
    Great, thought Rupert. I fight my way through half the demons in the Darkwood, just to get beaten up by my own men-at-arms. Typical.
    He rose unsteadily to his feet, his left arm hanging limp and useless at his side. The unicorn moved in beside him to protect him. Chane hefted his pike, grinning unpleasantly. And then ten dirty, bloodstained guards burst out from the surrounding refugees to stand between Rupert and the unicorn and their attackers. Chane and his friends took one look at the grim figures confronting them, and started to back away. There was a sudden echoing rasp of steel on leather as the guards drew their swords, and the men-at-arms backed away even faster.
    'That's our leader you're threatening,' said one of the guards quietly. Rupert recognised him as Rob Hawke, the Bladesmaster. 'He brought us back from the dark. If he hadn't stopped you, you'd have slammed those gates in our faces and left us to die out there. So, you can either lower those pikes, or you can eat them. Got it?'
    'Who the hell are you people?' blustered Chane, his eyes darting nervously from one grim-faced guard to another.
    'How long have you been a man-at-arms in this Castle?' asked a cold, familiar voice, and Rupert looked round to find the Champion at his side, his war axe in his hands.
    Chane's jaw dropped, and all the colour drained from his face in a second. 'Sir Champion . . .'he whispered faintly. 'They told us you were dead! But. . . if you're alive, then he must be . . .'
    He stared wide-eyd at Rupert, who smiled sardonically back. And then, to Rupert's utter amazement, Chane lowered his pike, knelt hefore him, and bowed his head. The other men-at-arms did the same.
    'Forgive me, Sire,' said Chane, his voice breaking with emotion. 'Forgive me for not recognising you, but it's been so long . . . we'd given up all hope . . . everyone said you were dead! Everyone!'
    'Well I'm not,' said Rupert shortly. 'Or if I am, I'm a bloody thirsty ghost.'
    Rob Hawke immediately offered Rupert his canteen. Rupert nodded gratefully to the guard, and sheathed his sword. He took the canteen, pulled out the stopper with his teeth,, and sucked greedily at the lukewarm water. He'd never known water to taste so good. His thirst finally died away, and he reluctantly handed the canteen back. Chane and the other men-at-arms were still kneeling before him, and he gestured uncomfortably for them to get up. Their continued devotion was becoming embarrassing.
    'Welcome back, Sire,' said Chane, rising quickly to his feet, his eyes shining with something that might almost have been religious awe. 'Welcome home, Prince Rupert.'
    His words echoed loudly on the stillness, and then a murmur ran quickly through the crowded refugees.
    Heads turned to stare in Rupert's direction, and here and